


Shards Under My Skin

by Draycarla



Series: Shendak Week 2020 [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shiro (Voltron) Has Issues, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycarla/pseuds/Draycarla
Summary: Losing time and maybe the plot, Shiro finds Sendak in his bathroom and wants to remind him of something.
Relationships: Sendak/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Shendak Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592932
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	Shards Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Last one for Shendak week 2020: Day 7 was mirrors!
> 
> Okay, this does have the sex in it, but the consent is really up in the air, but it's so subjective because of the reactions to it. For warning, I'm going to say consider it noncon at the worst, but you'll see what I mean when you finish it. It's got elements of dub and noncon, and some could argue it could be consenting or moot.
> 
> But yeah, be prepared for noncon, please!

He'd lost time again on the observation deck. So much time, even Pidge's light was out. It must be late, Shiro thought, as he silently trudged towards his room, ignoring the tricks he knew his eyes played on him when they caught the edge of a shadow here, and thought he heard movement there. These days he could barely sleep for long before the nightmares came. They came and he'd awaken soaked in sweat and clutching at his chest. It at least reminded him he was alive; a state he was sometimes unsure about, considering the constant fear of being tracked or the fragments of his torment that were starting to come back together again. Shiro swallows the thick lump in his throat, rubbing his tired eyes. Hopefully with it being so late, he'd just drop off. After today he craved sleep.

Where was he?

Oh.

He was in the bathroom. More time lost. He cupped his hands, catching the water to scrub into his face. After so long, he took every advantage he could to use common amenities like these. You never knew how much you could miss the small things until they were taken away. Captivity, for all the hell, taught him to never take anything for-granted again. It changed him, like _they_ changed him. He blinked the water from his eyes as he stared at his reflection; dark circles peeping back at him between his fingers. The scar. Pressing his prosthetic against the wall, Shiro leaned in close – closer – brushing pale fingers along the length.

“I'm Takashi Shirogane. Lieutenant in the Galaxy Garrison. I'm twenty-five years old. I'm from Earth – human.”

Habit is what it was. A reminder he'd tell himself every day in his cell, and when he was alone in front of a mirror, he'd repeat it a few times for good measure like a mantra. Grounding, a reminder. Training said it would help if he was ever in the situation. Make yourself an asset. He snorted. Shiro'd become more then a simple asset to the Galra – garnered more attention then he ever wanted. It was worse when they'd call him 'Champion' or 'slave'. Worse still when he had to call his captors 'master'. Sendak had brought that memory his head had tried to bury back. Sendak had brought a lot back – mental and physical feelings he didn't really understand, or want to.  
“I'm Takashi Shirogane. Lieutenant in the Galaxy Garrison. I'm twenty-five years old. I'm from Earth – human.” Shiro repeats again. A third time, eyes screwed shut. A fourth time for good measure when he could _feel it._ It was a strange feeling; an ache of his entire body that'd started – on and off - the moment he saw the commander's face scowling down at them like they were filth. Shiro focuses on his breathing; he needs grounding.

“Champion.”

His eyes snap open, breath hitching at the sight of Sendak's reflection.

“You're not here, you're in my head! You...you can't be here.”

Claws lock down against his waist, the points digging in through the fabric of his shirt, burrowing into his skin.

“Does this feel like it is in your head, Champion?” He drawls, weight of his body pressing Shiro up against the sink. Shiro could feel it – he shouldn't - he _shouldn't._

“You are missing something,” his breath is hot against Shiro's ear, “I can return that.” There was a purr that set the hairs on the back of his neck on edge, as he watches Sendak's tongue run across the shell of his ear. His entire body shudders, but any hope of moving was lost. He's paralysed in place. Sendak couldn't and shouldn't be here.

“It is here,” the claws trace over his back and down between the cleft of his ass cheeks, pressing against the boxers he was certain he hadn't stripped down to yet, “that you feel the dull ache.” His voice was smooth; like honeyed poison. They press, sharp, and swirl small circles to stimulate. Shiro cracks a whimper against his better judgement. Sendak laughs, soft and dark in his ear.

“Shall I help you with the ache?” The tongue laps again at his ear, then it moves down along his neck. Shiro can feel himself harden, feel the dull ache fester under his skin.

“ _Please_.” He begs. He's not sure why he's begging, he doesn't know why Sendak's here, why he's placing his other hand against the side of the mirror.

Boxers pool at his feet and the shirt is torn away. His skin is cold. Shiro bites down on his bottom lip; he can't look himself in the face. A colder press plants itself against his chest, metal claws drag slowly across it. One catches his nipple and Shiro whines pathetically. He tries to arch away, but can't. Sendak's body is like a mountain of jagged armour and heat. Something hard presses against his ass cheeks, and a small purr of delight echoes around the bathroom. The sink's becoming painful, the metal hand frigid.

“Always the pliant one,” Sendak's whispering in his ear again, grazing teeth over his neck, “tell me you want this.”

Shiro can't – won't – say the words. He chooses to grind against Sendak's bulge. There's a laugh. He doesn't want it, he _shouldn't_ want it.

“Beg for my cock.”

“I-I can't.”

“Open your eyes,” Sendak's tongue is hot against the skin, “and beg your master.” Shiro hisses through his teeth. He's hot but cold; aroused when he shouldn't be. This makes no sense. He draws his head up to another soft chuckle, feels the purposeful grind and purr of approval. Shiro's distraught when his body clenches, feels hotter at the mere thought of it thick and deep and buried. He opens his eyes and catches Sendak's unreadable face.

“Fuck me, commander. I...I need it.”

Shiro wants to puke already.

Every move is quick and with purpose. There's no preparation; Sendak simply fucks himself inside one painful burn after another. The problem is, the burns are pleasurable. Painful but not. Shiro's whining and whimpering like a bitch, eyes screwed shut and wishing he didn't ask Sendak for this. His body has other ideas. His cock is hard, untouched but leaking. A flesh hand pulls his ass cheek to the side and there's a growl above him.

“Mine.”

“Yes, master.” Shiro doesn't know why he's inclined to say it. Doesn't know why he's still this scared. Doesn't know why he's watching himself in the mirror. Sendak's prosthetic shifts. It grabs his thigh and hoists it up. The ridged cock pushes deeper. A hand snakes its way around to his cock and pumps it slowly as each punishing thrust comes one after the other. Each deeper and stretching him open the more and more it goes. His legs are shaking from the position. It's pleasure-pain and his body is choosing to rut into Sendak's hand because Shiro _wants this_. He _needs this_. It fills the void and feeds the ache. It stretches the thinness of his sanity a little tighter, frays along the middle but not gone yet.

Teeth graze and move along his neck to the bite marks. Sendak watches Shiro as he lines his teeth up.

“Ask for it.”

Shiro does and doesn't want to.

“Bite me, _please_.” He says anyway. Sendak brushes his tongue over the marks before teeth and pain lance through his body. He yelps. Sendak's still fucking Shiro, still jerking him, but he's watching as he sinks fangs in deeper. He doesn't feel less empty; Shiro feels worse instead.

“You cannot run or hide from this,” Sendak laps the blood from the skin with a dull purr, “or pretend you have forgotten. Your mind can try to hide the shame and self-disgust, the memories, but your body has reminders.” There's an almost dainty lap that catches the trickling line of blood. “You were _mine._ You _enjoyed_ it. It is written upon your face.”

Shiro looks once, looks twice. Hates himself more. There's a deep blush and beads of sweat trailing down his brow. He's been begging and pleading and hard, moving against Sendak for extra friction in a vain hope to get off. It's worse because he's close. Loves and hates the ridges that stimulate the deepest parts of him Adam could never reach. Shiro's guilty at that thought.

The guilt becomes shame and then anger. He tries to buck Sendak off. Fails. Shiro pushed him deeper instead.

“I missed the struggle.” Sendak holds his leg tighter. He grunts in amusement when fur slaps against skin. Shiro can hear it loud in his ear, the noises drawn from his throat echoing in his head and around the room. It feels good but it's wrong but also right. He should struggle, fight. Shiro tries again. Ridges and claws make it difficult. All the writhing and thrusting draws him closer, Sendak is too, maybe. He doesn't know. The pace is erratic, he's grunting and the cock is twitching.

Stop it, stop it, “stop it, _stop it!_ ”

There's a resounding crack that echoes throughout the bathroom, twitching eyes and terrified face reflected back at him in the mirror. His lips are trembling.

Shiro's swallowing air like he's almost drowned. His heart hammers in his chest, his ears. He drops down into something soft and damp. Sheets. _Sheets_? He snaps his head around; the dull blue light, the pillows and sheet beneath him. He's as bare as the day he was born, and there's come on the sheets. He lost time. Did he? There's still a dull ache in his ass. It dawns on him where his prosthetic hand is.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Shiro curls himself into a tight ball, staring at the blood on metal fingers. His body still has a dull ache. He checks his neck. There's no pain. No blood. Nothing.

He needs to wash his hands; he's filthy again. Shiro runs a hand through his hair with deep, calming breaths. When he's ready, he stumbles back off towards the bathroom. Sendak wasn't here, he'd just imagined it. Did it happen in captivity? He wasn't sure still. It could have. Maybe. Probably.

He stops dead in his tracks. The mirror's shattered. Shiro sees splintered versions of himself in the glass. His boxers sit in a crumpled heap on the floor. He swallows and pads forward, swipes them from the ground. As he catches his fractured face in the mirror, he sees the unmistakable form of Sendak leaning against the opposite wall. Sadistic little smirk on his face.

“Hello, _Champion_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed these, but back to my love that is mymm! Sorry for the long delay, my dear readers.
> 
> Other then that, you see what I mean about it? Since it never happened, it's kinda irrelevant, but because I didn't wanna give away the end, well, you know what I mean.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope you have all enjoyed!


End file.
